


Almighty Dragon Archer

by emotionalsymphony



Category: overwatch
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Intimacy, Feelings, Mild Suggestive Themes, Multi, One-Shot, Overwatch (Recall), Romance, Slice of Life, Unspoken "thing", Very Mild Pining, bedroom shenanigans, but still arrogant hanzo shimada, gender-neutral, more relaxed hanzo shimada, unestablished relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalsymphony/pseuds/emotionalsymphony
Summary: Hanzo Shimada was a different man in the bedroom. At least, not in the dirty way.





	Almighty Dragon Archer

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Imagine Dragons' amazing song: Next to Me. For added emotional effect, I suggest you listen to it while reading : ) Enjoy!

He was clad in a simple grey shirt and sweats; agreeably a stark contrast to the man's iconic hakama. 

You'd have to admit that the outfit felt awfully foreign towards what you were normally acquainted with. In some ways, the alien combination did make you shiver but heaven forbid, it drew nothing near an eyesore. 

Having Hanzo Shimada lay across what once was a barren portion of your bed is not something you expected from the years to come. You constantly were unsure. What were the boundaries? What exactly did your relationship amount to? The topic was always left unspoken—uncertain. So naturally, it did often make you question whether this whole ‘sleeping-over’ situation could still be considered a normal thing to do for…close friends. There were touches, whispers, secrets, tears, burdens and the like, though whether anything was official or not hasn’t been confirmed. At least, not yet. 

You’d worry about having a boyfriend later. For now, you were just content with sleeping.

There were much higher priorities, for goodness sake.

You linger soundlessly by the dim light of your refresher, quietly staring at the distant form of the eldest Shimada. His built frame was pressed flat against the cushioned headboard, nimble legs outstretched amongst your white, tousled sheets. He appeared to be minding his own business, only mildly interested in the familiar book held securely in his grasp. You note that his hair was still up.

A smile graces your lips, fondness tickling pleasantly at your conscience. 

“I'll have you know that I was not trained to be unconscious of my surroundings,” Hanzo says nonchalantly, mindlessly flipping another page of his novel.

Then just like that, magic dissipates from the air, leaving behind an echo of his snarky retort.

You offer a dignified snort, swiftly flicking off the bulb in the bathroom as you sluggishly made your way to bed, “Alas, he ruins the moment.” You comment sarcastically and flop down onto the mattress with a fulfilled sigh, undoubtedly relieved by its instant comfort. The assassin does not verbalize his response, a smug smirk instead taking its place amidst handsome features. He glances momentarily at the movement, before averting his vision once more to the appeal of lengthy, poorly illuminated paragraphs. You squint, struggling to make due with the limited amount of guidance from the table lamp.

“Damn,” You yawn, crossing arms under the tresses of your hair, “What are you reading, ‘The essence of Trigonometry?’”

Almost speedier than light, Hanzo swats your nose with the item’s hardbound cover, scoffing amusedly at your shocked yelp, “Do not taunt me,” The assassin supplied bluntly. 

Snickering, you rub at the reddening spot of your flesh, compensating for its fuzzing pain in the heat of your reply, “Hey, it’s not my fault you get so engrossed with geometry,”

Despite his rather serious disposition, subtle humor manages to seep into his tone, “Expect no less from a skilled archer.” 

Sometimes it slips past your mind just how arrogant he could be. You raise a hand to wave him off, feigning exasperation, “Right, right, dragon master—ow!”  

“Again, with the taunting.” He mutters sourly.

A retort bubbles in your throat, ready to lash out in all its sarcastic glory. A banter he wants? A banter he gets. Although, before you could even begin what would be an exhilarating battle of the wit, you pause, quip hanging unfinished by the edge of your teeth. Hanzo observes your hesitation and glances away from the multitude of pages, peering curiously under furrowed brows. A grimace turns the corners of his pale lips, voice low with suspicion, _“What?”_

Eyes now half-lidded, you slyly shift your weight onto your arms, intently inching closer towards his person with a grin far too cheeky, “Would you like a little praise instead, hm?”

One second. Two seconds.

Almost immediately, the tension in his shoulders drop and the Shimada resigns himself with a lack of response. _Perhaps._ He thinks, shaking his head. The refusal, however, doesn’t deter you. Gingerly, you raise two fingers and place them gently on the skin of his tattoo, absentmindedly tracing its intricate figures, “Hanzo Shimada,” You declare spontaneously in a voice confident and bold, beaming like a man on a mission. For a moment, the ninja has to stare, presenting you an incredulous (albeit interested) look.

Continuing loudly, “First born of the Shimada Clan, a prodigy since birth!”

Hanzo suppresses his bursting pride at the prospect of your swelling compliments, “Whatever you have in mind, I suggest you stop it.”

And of course you don't.

You extend your hand against the air, palm sweeping in a large motion, “An excellent marksman whose aim is forever true," He wordlessly catches your wrist and anchors it gently against the pillows. But to his mild surprise, as soon as that is pinned down, yet another one spring back into the open. The man instinctively swerves at the jolting motion, almond eyes widened in his adrenaline high. Hanzo sternly calls your name, mock irritation plastered on his face, “Be careful—”

“But do not be misled by his thundering strength,” Aided by deftness, you pull to your freedom and (though he won’t admit that it was graceful) skillfully rolled off the futon with a 'plop!' on the hardwood floors, “For his stealth is just as deadly. Silent and unpredictable as the night,” A scoff. The man opens his mouth to remark snidely in your presence, but you hold up a finger, wagging it in return, “Surprising! For a man whose patience falls nothing short of his height,”

At that, Hanzo blinks once. He forgets the snark.  _“Excuse me?”_

“Though whatever he lacks in stature is made up for his unmistakable position: regal in nature, disciplined in demeanor and, not to mention, somewhat…handsome.”

He snorts, “Do not think that saying I am ‘somewhat’ handsome could possibly make up for that claim against my height—”

You choose to ignore him, striding across the darkness of the room with that same chipper mien, “Best of all, the Shimada is no ordinary man,” And because an assassin's habits die hard, you stalk off towards the corner where his Storm Bow had been laid not far from its arrows, readying yourself to heave it up for use. Having realized your intentions, the archer automatically stills.

But soon discovers that he couldn’t find it in him to intervene. The weapon--his weapon-- was held so firmly, properly even, in your grasp that Hanzo begrudgingly spares a few more idle seconds to finish your antics.

“For he creates connections with otherworldly beings, a gift that has run so well in his royal blood,” You squint an eye and pretend to nock back an arrow, hoping to replicate what you had seen him done multiple times in training and battle alike, “As the air howls in the wind, whipping back his golden ribbon, Hanzo breathes and pins down his enemies with dead-sharp aim,” You pull tightly at the string, “Then in a shout, so loud and sure, twin dragons of blue magic unleash itself from the holster of his bow, roaring with greatness.”

He would admit that the view was exceptional from his position. What with the dimness of the lamp carving your determined features, the fiery glaze in your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, the growl that bared your teeth topped off by the acceptable practice of your stance, he would have called the fragmented picture of your mocking almost enticing. Were it not for his ‘disciplined demeanor’, as how you put it, Hanzo’s breath would have hitched considerably loud in the dead of midnight. A sound only for your ears alone to hear.

It was not a displeasing idea.

But all thoughts seem to ram into oblivion once he hears you exclaim in his native tongue. Shockingly, you didn’t butcher it all too much.

Releasing the draw, _“Ryuu ga waga teki wo kurau!”_

Hanzo finds his left arm twitching at the phrase, a short, electrifying shiver thrumming within the ink of his tattoos. You didn’t summon anything, as expected. (if you did, he’d have to rethink his life choices) Instead, it conjures up a more captivating force, enough to send himself shaky at the knees, even if he denied it so.

Laughter.

Happy, lighthearted chortles that crinkled your cheeks and scrunched your nose in a way that could be dimmed fit beautiful. He cannot help but let out a brief huff of amused laughter, the inkling of a rugged smile beaming at your ridiculous efforts too woo him. Seemingly satisfied, you mindfully return his bow to its casing, dragging your giddy frame to the same, warm bed that he lay in. Hanzo closes his book and places the object on the nightstand, fidgeting to create a much more considerable space for either of you to sleep in. Like routine, you slip under the sheets, fluffing the fabric that folded uncomfortably to your senses.

"Why the hell did I do that,"

Another one of his snorts, "I tried my best to stop you, believe me." 

Nevertheless, you look up at the other, and _yes_ , taunt him still, “But putting that aside what do you say?”

Offense was an understatement, “You cannot legitimately expect me to say thank you for that agonizing display.” Oh, it was anything but agonizing. Arching a brow, you allow the silence to voice out your reply, a haughty look painting your expression. The Shimada, still sitting, surprises you with a joke (regardless of its bitter taste), “You will have to do better than that.”

Seriously, this man could rally out exasperation like no other. “Oh my god, what else do you want? A stripping routine?”

He actually chuckles at that, and you choke on air when he mumbles with a teasing smirk, ‘Perhaps.’ There's an extended exchange of quips and odd laughter before a quiet finally befalls the room, remnants of joyful gestures exiting with a life-thrumming tang in your chest. Already spent enough to rest, you watch the man as he busies himself with his hair, fingers working to untie the knot of his ribbon. Maybe it was fatigue, or the rush to finally sleep, but he took a tad bit longer to release the fastening. Ever helpful, you straighten up and bristle a hand against his shoulder.

“Let me,” You say, voice soft in comparison with your earlier narrations.

“It is fine.”

"Sure it is." Unperturbed, you situate yourself in front of the man's hunched figure. Leaning to thread your digits across the golden lace, he grunts and reluctantly allows his arms to fall to his sides, granting you space to work. No less than a few seconds later, his dark locks come untangled, gradually descending his shoulders like a murky waterfall.

“There,” You pull away, the long fabric twined between your fingers, staring serenely at his disheveled state.

That smile—always gentle—is again dancing on those kind lips.

Hanzo falters at the overwhelming amount of intimacy that flooded him: just the two of you, sitting across each other, the sound of the sea not too far from your hearing. He wonders and recounts the last time was he was like this; talking to someone, holding someone, sharing a bed with someone, innocent, loving. Real.

“Let’s sleep?” You offer.

And he nods, but no one moves.

There was something vulnerable about the waning seconds that has either of you glued into place. As time ticked on, Hanzo notices that you barely even realized you were staring, that you were growing lost in this raging sea of brown, staring past the demons and venturing a void seamed underneath his brooding attitude or arrogance.

Here, of all places, in the confined space of a beat down compound, you would see the worn circles under his eyelids, the looser condition of his being, the bad and the good all concocted within the four walls of this cramped quarter.

He notices that you don’t understand how human he felt at the frontline of your open-mindedness, notices that you can’t comprehend how he’s been reduced to a simple man under the flesh of your giving fingertips, or how unknowing you are of the rare consent he permits you as you wipe away the restricted pains of his mistakes, nor the trust he grants you when he shares his nightmares.

You didn’t notice that he knew.

That he let you.

Then comes the recurring query: Should he tell you? Tell you how you warm him to rubble? To hope?

“I—” He begins uncharacteristically. The Shimada sees the shifting attention of your gaze then, ancestors help him, withdraws, “—thank you.” Hanzo finishes gruffly. And oh, it pained him that he was referring to much heavier things beyond the silly motions of untying his hair or pampering his ego. One day, you’ll know. He’ll tell you and you’ll know.

 

Hanzo breathes in.

 

Breathes out.

 

You smile, "Anytime.”

  _._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I accept critique, comments, ideas and especially those kudos ; ) Bless!


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